The Witch's Cursed Daughter

101. An Inexcusable Demand

As the hoard of men marched through the gate, Romile's eyes widened at the number. While he had been aware of the Guard Stations positioned outside the palace Wall and in the town to deter external attacks, as well as the knights who were assigned to bi-monthly excursions around the borders, he wondered how they had organised and arrived so swiftly. As their feet beat the ground like steel, Romile looked for Julian, sensitive to the current battle climate.

Realising that all fighting had ceased at the sudden arrival of additional troops, the rusty-haired Guard spotted his prince amid the crowd, mumbling to the dukes who quickly passed word throughout their units. Noticing Romile's gaze, Julian met his eyes, stern and unwavering. Romile's heartbeat steadied as a calming sensation settled on his mind. Slowly Julian nodded, signalling that Romile was free to continue his mission. A twinge of guilt pulling on the left side of his chest, Romile continued his route, scaling the rubble and combing through the mess, trying to find Davore.

***

While Romile's figure disappeared behind a section of stone wall, littered in cracks and lavish ornaments set into the paintwork, Julian readied himself to gain control of his company. Breathing in deeply, Julian felt his lungs expand with the foul stench of death emanating all around him. Fear came in subtle droves as he watched the faces of men looking to him for leadership. As he debated what to say to motivate the company after sharing his scheme through the dukes, an enormous splash broke the silence that had stilled the space.

Past the steps where Illea stood, below the Allancient, struggling against the suction-like pressure of the Myrde, Cielo had left the first aid station where Julian had abandoned him and flown to the princess, startling her and breaking her concentration allowing the Myrde to smoothly pull away her magic. As Illea screamed in anger, the Peryton lifted into the air and landed at the dark-haired prince's side. A wave of affection swam through Julian as if he had reunited with a loved one; Julian had left Cielo behind to protect him, since the skies were now home to much larger beasts, however he was ashamed of the choice he had made.

Julian pulled himself onto Cielo's back with every pair of eyes piercing his body. It was only in this moment Julian comprehended how unregal he must seem. He was not wearing a full suit of armour or a cloak; he did not have a shield and swung only a single blade. His appearance was questionable, caked in dirt and blood and torn clothes, as well as hair so mangy it appeared to have a life of its own. Julian could feel embarrassment begin to rise in his throat; however, Wen caught his eye. He stood sword to sword with a knight close to Illea's position. The two were watching him, waiting for his decision. Would he fight or concede?

As his silver eyes wandered across to Illea, Julian was stunned by her neglect of affairs happening around her. While the Dragon was having its magical energy sapped away, so was she. The princess was too preoccupied with her magic depletion, screaming quietly, striking out in rabid movements as she attempted to attack the Myrde. Such attempts were barely strong enough to be labelled futile. Julian was confused by the sudden impression of pity that formed within him as he watched his sister. On closer inspection, he could see that as the magic drained from her, the colour and life within her skin, her being, disappeared. Almost as if the magical energy inside her had been fuelling her existence, not blood.

The loud cries of the new enemy behind him shook Julian from the theatre provided by the princess. Raising his sword above his head, aura rushing out like a hungry predator, he roared, "Commence!"

As if the world had been paused until that moment, the battle resumed the moment the second prince called. Wen swung at the last knights defending Illea. Duke Fassie and his unit swarmed the perimeter, preventing the opposition from fleeing. Duke Darron and his men fought towards the Allancient just behind Wen. The Mages provided assistance and healing in a central position protected by shields, repelling anyone not specifically invited inside.

Looking for his Mage, Julian lifted into the air, his gaze constantly on the approaching army. "Voster!"

"Yes, Your Highness?" the Mage responded, standing up and sending light magic into his shield that was helping to protect fellow Mages who were launching long-distance attacks.

"Take care of the approaching army," Julian demanded.

"Pardon?" Voster spluttered. A few of the other Mage's heard the prince's command and looked at each other in disbelief. "How do you expect me to do that? We've already got our hands full," Voster cried up at Julian. There was no response as the prince sat in the air, watching the battle unfolding and closing simultaneously as Illea's knights dropped one by one. "Your Highness?!"

"Make them disappear," Julian said, so quietly Voster thought he misheard.

"What?"

"Make them disappear!" Julian repeated, this time so clearly that the noise of splashing, metal meeting, and soldier's shrieks could not drown him out. "The magic you used when we were young."

"Your Highness," Voster stared at Julian as his world turned dark. He felt as though his blood was running in reverse as he replayed Julian's request in his mind over and over.

"We don't have the manpower to win in an all-out battle for much longer," the prince continued, not noticing Voster's change in demeanour.

The Mage's face darkened as he tried to speak; however, his voice was so soft his own ears could hardly register the words. "Your Highness."

"It's the best chance we have," Julian's speech was interrupted as Voster erupted, screaming at him from the ground, pulling Julian from his monologue.

"Julian!"

Surprised by the Mage's outburst, Julian asked, "What, Voster?"

"Is that an order?"

"Yes," Julian replied. As the word left his lips, Julian understood the expression on Voster's face. He had just asked his friend to use the same magic that had killed their mother when he was a child. No matter the reason, he knew Voster would never forgive him. Unable to take back his answer, Julian felt the world crumble; his ears turned deaf as he noticed a sliver of himself die. As if he had amputated a section of his soul as he betrayed Voster.

Much like Julian, Voster's world had fallen quiet. The noises which had grown constant during the battle had melted away. Tilting his head towards the sky, Voster looked at the Myrde, tears in his blue eyes that looked so beautiful and out of place in war. Blowing out an unsteady breath, Voster walked forward, stepping away from the other Mage's and out from the combat area. Arriving at a point where he found himself alone, unaccompanied by soldiers of either side, the Mage closed his eyes and breathed softly.

"Mother, forgive me."